


Endings

by elisetales



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Request Meme, Romance, hamletmachine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abel accompanies a reluctant Cain to a Medal of Honor ceremony, where he is to be recognized for his bravery during the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endings

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this extras drawing by Hamletmachine, which you can find posted in the extras section of her website: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lx3t5jVYTE1qg6x08o1_400.jpg

 

Cain curses under his breath as he attempts to fix the sash at the waist of his uniform. Abel watches him for a few moments, half amused and half pitying, before he decides to step in and save Cain from himself. 

“Come here,” he says, and moves to stand behind Cain, looping his arms around his partner’s waist. “It goes like this, see?” He ties the sash off tightly and smooths his hands down over the front of Cain’s Full Dress uniform. “Have you ever worn this before?”

“Once,” Cain replies, and Abel nods, senses Cain won't say anything else about it even if Abel asks.

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other in the slightly-foggy bathroom mirror, Abel’s arms still wrapped around Cain’s waist and chin rested on his shoulder, but then Cain gently pushes Abel’s arms away and squirms out of reach, mutters, “Come on, we’ve gotta get ready,” and Abel steps back to give him his space with an inward sigh. 

Cain’s been acting strangely ever since they got back to the station. He doesn’t like to be touched as much as before, and he’s stopped trying to put it on Abel at every glimmer of an opportunity. Abel supposes he should feel some measure of relief at not being mauled several times a day, but he doesn’t. He misses Cain even when Cain’s standing right there. 

He wonders whether it has something to do with the battle, if Cain’s struggling more than he's letting on, still traumatized by the things they saw; but he can’t say anything to Cain’s face, or ask what’s bothering him. Cain is Cain, and Cain doesn’t need help. Definitely not a therapist.

“Come on, princess, let’s get this thing over with,” Cain says a short while later, standing in the doorway of the bathroom and holding his hand out to Abel.

Abel’s breath catches in his throat. He's never seen Cain look as handsome as he does right now and subsequently feels the heat rise in his face: all he can think about is getting Cain out of that uniform and pressed up against him; but thoughts like that will have to wait for later. He takes Cain’s hand and allows himself to be dragged from the room. 

***

The mess has been transformed into a venue worthy of tonight’s occasion. There are officers everywhere—plenty of them already half-drunk—and the food and drink laid out on the pristine white tables puts Abel in mind of home, where he’d been forced to attend glitzy fundraisers with his family every other week. But thinking of home doesn’t make him homesick. He doesn't want to be anywhere but where he is, here with Cain. 

“Thank god that’s over,” Abel says to Cain, steering him by the elbow into a less-crowded corner of the hall. 

“I don’t know what they’re thinking, giving me these,” Cain grumbles in reply, looking down at the row of medals on his chest. 

“You’re a war hero,” Abel says, frowning, and gently runs his fingers along the shiny medals on Cain’s chest. “You saved hundreds of lives. We never would have gotten out of there alive if it wasn’t for you. You know that, don’t you?”

“War hero,” Cain snorts then, as if this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, but Abel notices the slight rise of colour in his partner’s skin and knows that he’s flattered him.

Abel smiles. He’s so proud of Cain, and he wants Cain to be proud of himself; but it’s hard to convince him to feel proud of anything—for all of his bravado, Abel knows Cain feels deeply unworthy of this honour, as if a lowly fighter isn’t good enough to be recognised for his efforts. But flattered—flattered is good progress. 

A waiter holding a tray of champagne swishes by and Abel whirls around to snatch two flutes. He hands one to Cain, who lifts the glass to sniff it and wrinkles his nose. “What is this shit?”

“It’s champagne,” Abel informs him, trying not to sound haughty, and takes a deep sip from his flute. “Try it, you might actually like it.” 

Cain shrugs and empties half the glass in one swallow. “S’alright,” he decides. Abel proceeds to sip delicately at his own champagne, to show Cain how it’s done, and Cain smirks down at him. 

“Three weeks, sweetheart.”

“What?” Abel asks him, confused.

“Three weeks and you’ll never have to see me again.” Cain is still smirking, but there’s something off about it—his eyes are cold, as if his heart isn’t really in it to be so nasty right now. 

Abel knows he must look stricken. “Counting down the days, are you?” he throws at Cain, feeling his heart deflate inside his chest. Trust Cain to ruin a perfectly good evening. 

“I’m not, but  _you_  must be. Probably crossing them off on your little calendar every night.”

Abel’s scowl quickly relaxes into a smile. He _knows_ that tone—Cain is taunting him for a reason, and Abel doesn’t think it has anything to do with him looking forward to their eventual separation. 

“I don’t have a calendar,” he lies. “And no, I’m not looking forward to being away from you. You can say whatever you want about me, call me a pansy if you like, I don’t care. But I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.” 

The slow sound of music fills the room and Cain steps forward, closing the distance between them. He puts an arm around Abel’s shoulders, an odd sort of smile on his face, and Abel looks up at him, offering him a small smile in return.

“You’re going to miss me, huh?” Abel nods. “Well,” Cain says, brushing his fingers down the side of Abel’s face, “we’d better make these next few weeks count, then, eh?”

 


End file.
